Malice
by Kennette
Summary: Set seven years after "Mercy", Sam is now a promising new lawyer fresh out of law school and ready to tackle the scum of New York City. He has a bright future ahead of him, one that includes a beautiful fiancée and a large paycheck, but after he gains powerful enemies it seems that only a shadow from his past will be able to save him. AU, Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Set seven years after "Mercy", Sam is now a promising new lawyer fresh out of law school and ready to tackle the scum of New York City. He has a bright future ahead of him, one that includes a beautiful fiancée and a large paycheck, but after he gains powerful enemies it seems that only a shadow from his past will be able to save him.  
**  
****Timeline**: Alternate reality: the year is 2008, Sam is 25, Dean is 29, and they're not brothers  
**  
****Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Foul language, graphic violence, adult themes, substance abuse, and sexual content. Contains SLASH. Once again, messed up things happen in this story, so if you're sensitive then please think twice before reading it.

**A/N:** This is the sequel to "Mercy". I suggest you read that before reading this, although it's not required. I was originally going to wait until I had finished writing the entire story before posting a single chapter, but honestly... I just don't have that kind of willpower. Some of you seemed to really have enjoyed "Mercy", so I hope you find this sequel just as good. Have fun!

**MALICE**

Chapter I

/

"_Did you let go of the demons on your back?_"

- _Cry Wolf_, Mt. Wolf

/

"You touch me and I will chop your fucking balls off, you got it?" I glared at the guy to prove that I wasn't lying. His slimy smile faltered for a moment before it disappeared entirely, his expression transforming from cocky glee into pissed-off embarrassment. He withdrew his hand, which I knew had been heading for my ass, and hunched over the table as his buddies laughed loudly, teasing him. I would have smirked at my victory if I had not repeated this act a thousand times in the past. Years ago I had welcomed men hitting on me, but now it was just a pain in my neck. I didn't even crack a joke before taking their next order of drinks, pissed-off as I was.

"Fucking college kids," I muttered under my breath as I shoved and elbowed my way through the crowd, trying to forge a path back to the bar. I didn't have to keep my voice low, however, for I could have shouted it and no one would have been able to hear me. Harvelle's Roadhouse was packed tonight, the Friday of the last week of classes, and the mixture of voices all simultaneously talking was louder than the music blaring from the speakers. That pissed me off too, because I liked the song playing.

"You okay?" Ellen shouted to me as I struggled to slip behind the bar. I needed a small break; a respite from the chaos.

I nodded even though I wasn't sure of my answer, giving her the order before leaning against a shelf of booze. I watched as she mixed an assortment of drinks. Her hands were quick and nimble, handling the bottles, glasses, and mixer like they were extensions of her appendages. She had told me once that she had been a bartender in college, before she had become a police officer, and she had since proven it. Over and over again. I had no clue how she did it, especially on a busy night like this, when impatient pricks were shoving bills in her face at every turn.

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest, wondering if this was the same thing Sam was doing in Stanford; if _he _was one of those impatient pricks. To be honest, I couldn't picture him in this kind of setting, hitting on girls and consuming alcohol at unhealthy rates. But then again, I was picturing the Sam I had last seen seven years ago; the one who had hugged me and smiled before boarding a train to California, his hair too long and scruffy and his eyes too sad. I'd seen him in pictures since then, on that _Facebook_ thing, or whatever it was called. I had even talked to him over the phone a few times, but he'd never returned to New York after he had left. I had entertained the idea of going to Stanford to visit him myself, but I always ended up chickening out, making excuses. Besides, Ellen was way too overprotective these days to let me travel that far by myself.

"Jo, you listening?" I snapped out of my thoughts and refocused on Ellen, who was calling over her shoulder at the bar. She gave me a questioning look and then I was back in server mode, taking the tray of drinks she had prepared and holding it above my head as I embarked on the tedious journey back to the table of rowdy boys. Fortunately, Mr. Hands On was quiet this time, and aside from a few drinks being spilled on me, the remainder of the night went without incident.

By closing time I could tell that Ellen was exhausted. It was hard to imagine she could still keep up with the late nights, six years after the two of us had opened Harvelle's Roadhouse. I could still remember visiting the place when it had been "Larry's Bar", before Ellen had transformed it into a popular spot for college kids.

The space was silent now, aside from the clinking of glasses as me and Ellen cleared the tables. Usually we'd spend these moments chatting about the drunken idiots we had the pleasure of meeting that night, but not this time. I was wiping down a table when I stole a glance at the woman, wondering if she remembered what day it was. I scolded myself soon afterwards for having any doubt. The slouch of her shoulders told me everything.

I recalled the moment when Ellen had proposed we open the Roadhouse. It had taken me by surprise, but only until she had explained her reasoning. Her late husband had always wanted to open a restaurant when the two retired. Ellen couldn't cook, but she could definitely bartend, so a bar it had been. But six years later and I could tell the late nights were finally getting to her.

"You can go home, Ellen. I'll finish up here," I said as I flipped a chair and set it on one of the tables.

She gave me a look. "I'm not _that_ old, Jo. I can still make it through the night if I have to."

I smiled to myself. "No one's asking you to do that. And I'm not saying you're old either. It was busy tonight, and I know what day it is."

I didn't want to have to bring up the anniversary, but I knew it was the only way to get her to leave. Otherwise she would make up an endless array of excuses to stay and work. She'd end up rearranging the boxes of bottles in the backroom until the sun came up, all to help keep her mind off of what she would have to face today.

Ellen sighed as she threw the rag she had been clutching onto the polished bar top. "You're right," she agreed. "I should try to get some sleep."

Although we both knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep today, I sighed inwardly with relief. There was nothing I could do to help her through the anniversary of her husband's death, but I did prefer she spend it safe in the two-room apartment we shared instead of wasting one more minute in this crappy place.

She kissed me goodbye on the cheek before she made her way out and into the chilly night. Our apartment building was just a block over, and although the path was down an alleyway, I wasn't worried. Ellen had been discharged as a cop years ago, but her hand-to-hand combat skills were still impressive. I had witnessed them firsthand on a few occasions. Just recently she had stopped a pissed-off biker who had made the mistake of trying to push her out of the way during a bar fight. She had even insisted I take self-defense classes myself, though I often skipped without her knowing. The bar kept her so busy it was a rare occurrence when she actually drove me to the classes herself.

I managed to lock up the bar an hour after closing, having mopped the floors and taken inventory. I shivered when I exited through the side door that led into the alley. It was still cold out these days, despite the approach of summer, but the bite in the air didn't stop me from enjoying the feeling of another hard-day's work complete. Being a bartender wasn't the most ideal of occupations, but it sure as hell beat my last profession. Serving alcohol was always better than serving myself.

I locked the door behind me and stuffed the keychain back in the pocket of my jean jacket. As I began my short walk home, my flat shoes scuffing against the pavement, I took solace in the fact that tomorrow would be a cakewalk next to what I had gone through tonight. Ash would be filling in for Ellen and-

A hand suddenly gripped my arm, yanking me backwards and causing my legs to shuffle quickly in order to keep my balance. The momentum swung me around, and another hand gripped my upper arm as I came face to face with a man darkened by the dim lighting in the alleyway. He was pushing me back, and in my panic I tried to recall how to react in a situation like this. I was suddenly regretting not having gone to more of my self-defense classes.

"Get off of me, you asshole!" I shouted. At least, I tried to, but before I could get a word out the guy shoved me against the alley wall and the air was pushed out of my lungs in a forced exhale. I felt a hand cover my mouth as my head was shoved back. I recovered my breath quickly, but as I tried to make noise, any noise, all that managed to come out was a muffled scream of outrage.

It quickly donned on me that even if I could scream loudly into the night, no one would be coming to save me. I was on my own. The realization wasn't much of a surprise; more of a thought I had forgotten and was simply recalling now. I used to always know that, before Ellen, when there had been no one else but myself to rely on. That's how it had always been, but lately I had forgotten. This asshole, who probably thought I would break down into a weeping mess, was simply reminding me.

I felt anger surge inside of me, replacing the fear, and I immediately attempted to draw my leg up and knee my attacker in the groin. I thanked my muscle memory for having at least remembered that piece of advice from self-defense class, but the man was already too close to me. I couldn't move my limbs freely, except for my right arm which I was ineffectively beating against his side as I tried to shake my head free of his foul-smelling fingers.

"Little bitch," I heard him growl, his breath wafting into my face like a dense cloud of evaporated liquor. "Think you can insult anyone you like? I'll teach you to fuck with me." He laughed, though it sounded more like a sneer. "Or maybe I'll just teach you to _fuck_ me."

My arm was quickly getting tired, so I switched my tactic, reaching up to his face and trying to poke at his eyes. My reach was not long enough, however, and I only managed to annoy him. He released the pressure on my mouth and as I instinctively raised my head he slammed it back again, pain bursting from the back of my skull as lights flashed before me.

In my daze I didn't struggle as he turned me around and pushed me against the brick wall, the rough material scratching the bare skin of my face. He held me by the neck with one hand, the other reaching down for the zipper of my jeans.

"You're gonna enjoy me, baby," he whispered into my ear.

"Fuck you!" I screamed as I gathered enough of my wits to realize what he intended to do. I threw an elbow back blindly, feeling it connect, and suddenly he was releasing me. I spun around and saw him backing away, his hands clutching his face as he yelled in pain. When he looked up at me the lower part of his face was dark with blood.

Good. I had broken his nose.

I didn't have much time to celebrate, however, because I realized now was my chance to run. I raced down the alley towards my apartment, my bedroom window visible a few stories up. I didn't get very far before I felt his hands on me again. He grabbed my hair this time, and before I could stop myself, my feet flew from beneath me and my back hit the pavement with a loud _slap_. The impact stole the breath from my lungs for a second time, and coupled with the blow to my head, I knew I wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon.

I told my body to move but it disobeyed. It was taking a timeout, my lungs burning as I tried to suck in air again, coughing on the short, rapid intakes. I rolled onto my side, expecting the man to try to straddle me, but after a time I realized he was no longer attacking me.

My breathing had slowed, my body shaking less now, and I finally managed to sit up and face the man. He was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. I wondered why he had stopped. Maybe he had just wanted to scare me.

Well, the motherfucker had succeeded.

But then I noticed the other man slumped at his feet, and as I returned my gaze to the face of the one standing, I realized he was not my attacker. I suddenly recognized him, even through the veil of darkness. I crinkled my brow, narrowing my eyes as if that would clear them of their blurriness. "You…" I slurred. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Go home and call the police, Jo," the shadow said in a gruff tone. I could hear my heartbeat clearly, pain bursting through my head with each pulse, as I watched him walk down the alley towards the bar. I briefly wondered if I should chase after him, but then he disappeared, blending into the shadows. When he was gone I found myself unsure if I had seen him at all.

There was a groan and I returned my attention to my attacker. I picked myself up off the pavement, teetering only slightly, and then walked slowly towards the douchebag lying on the floor. I gave him a good, hard kick, recognizing him as the idiot from the bar who had tried to grab my ass. I kicked him another few times, hoping to give him something else to complain about in the morning other than a hangover.

"You're lucky I'm not gonna call the cops on you, asshole," I said to the sniffling man.

But I knew that I had been the lucky one tonight. Or was that man's return more like a bad omen? I couldn't be sure. All I was certain of was that I had probably hit my head harder than I thought I had.

_He's not real, Jo,_ I told myself. _You didn't see him_.

But as I made my way home I had the horrible feeling that my eyes hadn't lied to me. I had seen a monster in the dark.

* * *

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

**MALICE**

Chapter II

/

"_I think I made you up inside my head._"

- _Mad Girl's Love Song_, Carol Anne McGowan

/

_Four years. The time had passed so quickly it was hard to believe that everything had happened here that long ago. Yet, at the same time, it felt like a lifetime had passed._

_Sam stood on the concrete, staring out at the water. It was dawn, the first rays of sunlight spilling out over the city, skimming the tops of the waves that lapped at the concrete below him. It was Sunday today, and Realton's port was empty. He had sneaked in without a hitch, though his hand still hurt where he had cut it on the metal wire lining the top of the fence._

_He had come here for a reason: to speak with Dean. Or Mercy, as most people called him. He knew it wasn't logical to believe he could speak with a dead man, but perhaps if...__Sam had never been very religious, but he liked to think that something came after a person's last breath. Maybe if he spoke the words aloud... Maybe somehow Dean would hear them._

_"Hey Dean," he said, but then felt foolish. He cleared his throat. "I, uh... I came here because I..."_

_He trailed off. What did he have to say? What had been the point of buying a plane ticket and missing a weekend with his girlfriend in California? Why was he standing on this port instead of visiting Ellen or Jo or Ash or his mother's grave?_

_"I'm not sure why I'm here, to tell you the truth," he said to the air as he watched a plastic bottle floating in the water, the object bobbing up and down. He wondered how long it had been floating in this river; if it would follow the same path his stepfather had. Would it wash up on shore in the same place John did, a few miles down the coast?_

_He shook his head, attempting to focus his thoughts. "I've never told anyone about you. Not even the FBI. Not everything, at least." He shoved his hands further into his pockets, fighting back the chill of the early morning. "Sometimes I think I made you up inside my head. That you weren't real. Maybe that's because I can't speak about you to anyone."_

_The half-sunken boat Dean had died upon had been dismantled and transported to a junk yard some time ago. Sam could still see it's red surface in his mind, though, where Dean had collapsed, torn through by a bullet._

_"It's taken me this long to figure you out, Dean. When I woke up in the hospital and Jo told me you were gone, I... I didn't believe it at first. And then she told me you weren't a good person. All the people around me seemed to think you had deserved to die. Honestly, there was a time I wanted to kill you myself, when I thought you were the one who murdered my mom. But... I never agreed with those people."_

_He sniffed, stomping his feet on the port to keep them warm. "I thought about it a lot, and I realized it's because I always thought you were a good person. Even when I saw you kill, you were still good. You weren't the one who killed my mom. You only hurt people who hurt others. Like Meg and... And Vince."_

_It had been a while since he had said those names. He didn't like recalling the people the names belonged to._

_"I thought that about you for a long time, but people kept saying you were bad. Jo told me you had done horrible things. I didn't want to believe them so I never watched the news or read the paper. I didn't want to know. But eventually... Eventually I gave in. They were speaking about John in class a few weeks ago, and then you came up. Jesus Christ... The things you did."_

_He shook his head, closing his eyes._

_"Dean, I-" He faltered. Taking a deep breath, he continued in a quieter voice. "I discovered you weren't a good person after all. You killed so many people. _Innocent _people. Women like my mom. Teenagers. Honest politicians. Lawyers." He let out a laugh that held no amusement. "I'm going to be a layer, you know that? I got accepted into Stanford Law School. Three more years and then-" He stopped himself. "Well, I guess I'm going to be devoting my life to stopping people like you."_

_There was the faint sound of a ship's horn. He recalled tackling his stepfather over the ledge of a broken ship, falling into the water below._

_"I know what it's like to kill someone. When they deserve it, pulling the trigger can be so easy. But I don't understand how... How could you have killed someone who didn't deserve it? That's not who I thought you were."_

_He hunched his shoulders, the chill having reached his chest. Dean's last words to him echoed in his head. __"_I wish I could have chosen a better ending_". __He took his hands from his pockets and rolled up the left sleeve, staring at the tattoo inked into his wrist._

_"I wish you could have chosen a better ending too."_

_Sam guessed that's what he had come to say, because as soon as the words came tumbling out of his mouth he felt slightly lighter, like a heavy weight had been taken off of his shoulders.__Then he pulled his sleeve back down and turned around, never looking back as he left the port._

/

"Congratulations, Sam." A hand slapped me on the back, the eighteenth one tonight, and I forced myself to smile.

"Thanks," I mumbled, taking a small sip of my champagne as the unknown classmate walked off to congratulate someone else. I thought I recognized his face from one of my classes, but I couldn't be sure. It was slightly disturbing that he knew who I was when I couldn't even place him in one department of my life.

I looked around the enormous hall, full of professors and graduates and their parents. The students all looked different dressed up in their tuxedos and dresses, but there were a few familiar faces. I waved to a girl in a blue dress after realizing she was someone I knew. Then I sighed, trying to loosen the collar of my tuxedo as I glanced around the room again. I caught myself wondering how much longer I would have to stand here making chitchat with people, but quickly chastised myself. These were my fellow classmates and the men and women who had taught me everything I knew about law. I had spent the past seven years with them. I had loved it here.

_Then why am I so happy to be leaving California?_ The question popped into my head unexpectedly, but before I could answer it, or perhaps deny it, I recognized another familiar face in the sea of unknowns.

"Dude, we did it!" Luis shouted as he walked by a girl and her parents, causing the mom to jump in surprise. He didn't seem to notice the disturbance he had caused, a huge grin on his face as he came to stand next to me. Throwing an arm around my shoulders, he said, "Thank fuck, huh?"

I felt a genuine smile tug at my lips as I looked at the guy. He cleaned up well. I suddenly remembered him in his Halloween costume three years ago, dressed as a ghoul while congratulating me on my 'awesome LSAT victory'. Now we were both graduating from Stanford Law School and each dressed in expensive tuxedos. It seemed we had finally made it.

Luis was taking a long sip of his champagne, probably wishing it was a beer, as he thoroughly scanned the crowd of female graduates milling about in dresses that dragged across the floor. "You already on the prowl, Luis?" I asked him, shaking my head in mock disapproval.

He gave me a sidelong glance. "Hey, just because you're gonna be stuck with the same woman for the rest of your life, doesn't mean you have to be jealous, Sam."

I laughed. "Jealous of _your_ love life? Please. I've heard more about it than I've cared to over the past years, and I can say with confidence that there is nothing about it I envy."

He laughed loudly, throwing his head back and garnering a few odd looks. I knew Luis didn't see the disapproving glances, and I also knew he wouldn't have cared if he did. "You know I'm joking, man." He clutched my shoulder firmly and I was happy he hadn't felt the urge to pat me on the back. "Jess is fantastic. Any man would give his _left nut_ to be with her for the rest of his life. Congratulations on the engagement, buddy."

"Thanks," I said, shaking the hand he offered.

"You gotta give me a shout when you're up and settled in New York, all right? I'll come visit you before the wedding if you're not too busy." He punched my shoulder. "Mr. Big Shot Lawyer, here."

I chuckled, shaking my head again. "I heard you got a job over in North Carolina."

He shrugged. "Nothing that great. I didn't have the same fantastic, mouth-watering grades as _someone_ we both know."

I pushed him away jokingly, knowing he had landed a good job and was trying hard to be humble. "Congratulations anyway."

He downed the rest of his champagne in one go and then gave me a wink before he sauntered off, a woman probably having caught his eye across the room. "I mean it, man," he called over his shoulder. "We've gotta hang out in New York before you're officially hitched. You need a planner for your bachelor's party, give me a call, all right?" I waved as I watched him disappear into the crowd.

Letting out another sigh, I leaned against the table behind me. Its top was covered by a spotless white tablecloth upon which sat dozens of fancy platters full of expensive cuisine. I felt my stomach rumble, but I had no interest in the food. This graduation party put me in a slightly sour mood. I supposed it was because the event marked the end of my college life. No more Stanford. No more law school. This was the end.

But that wasn't right. I had to keep reminding myself that this was also the beginning. It was the start of my career. I would soon be working at Turner & Elkins, one of the best law firms in the country. I had accomplished what I had set out to do, yet I still couldn't quite quench the feeling that I had only gone in a circle. In less than a week I was going to be back in New York City, the place I had spent the first eighteen years of my life. The place where-

I stopped my thought process. Lately memories had begun to reappear in my mind, the ones I had stored away years ago, and I couldn't let that happen now. I had made a promise to myself that Stanford was going to be the beginning of the second part of my life, and it had been. The memories of what had happened in New York, the people I had left behind there, had slipped to the back of my mind as my life had suddenly been filled with new faces and names and tests and assignments. They had resurfaced less and less over the years, until I stopped thinking of them altogether. But now that I was planning to permanently return to New York they seemed to be coming back, appearing at the least convenient times and filling my head with doubts about my return. It unnerved me.

Another familiar face appeared, and I felt a smile touch my lips again as I forced myself to focus on the present. I sighed in relief as I snaked an arm around Jess' small waist, hugging her close. She was just the height to fit perfectly against my body, and I was suddenly glad that she never wore high heels. After working a shift at the hospital, her feet were usually too tired to be put through that torture. Even so, she was stunning in her slip-ons and a long black dress.

"Hey sweetie," she said as she looked up at me. I handed her my champagne glass and she took a sip. "Congratulations on graduating top in your class."

"Thanks, though I think you're the only one here besides Luis who's said that to me and meant it."

She shook her head. "You lawyers and your competitiveness. I don't know how you handle it."

"You mean you nurses don't ever stab each other in the back?" I teased her.

"If we did we'd just have more bodies to patch up."

I laughed. "True, I guess."

"So, the food here any good?" She eyed the table of appetizers behind us.

"I wouldn't know, but I'm sure it's the finest cuisine on the western seaport."

She smiled as she gently punched my arm. "You really hate seafood, don't you?"

I smiled down at her. "I love Stanford and California, but they could really do with a little less shrimp and clams."

"Is that why we're going to New York? You prefer pizza and hot dogs over clams and shrimp?"

I knew she had asked it as a jest, but I pondered her question seriously. Why was I going back to New York? A small part of me argued it wasn't just because of the great job that awaited me there. New York was where I had grown up, the city I had escaped from, but now I was willingly returning to it. Seven years ago I hadn't planned on ever going back permanently.

"Hey, you're gonna love the pizza there," I replied, trying to keep my voice light despite the heavy thoughts running through my mind. "I guarantee you'll pack on a few pounds in the first month."

She snuggled against my side, handing the champagne glass back to me. "I sure hope not. But I _am_ really excited to move there. At first I was a little iffy about it all, but I know how hard you worked to get the position at Turner & Elkins, and there is no doubt in my mind that you deserved the job. You're going to make an excellent lawyer."

I kissed the top of her head. "And hopefully an excellent husband, right?"

She grinned, looking up at me. "I have no doubt you're going to make the _perfect_ husband."

I squeezed her gently as I resumed watching my classmates. This would probably be the last time I saw them all.

"Are you going to miss it?" I heard Jess ask, perhaps mirroring my thoughts.

I was about to give the obvious answer, that of course I would, but I stopped myself. Although I had gone to every class, participated in every group project, taken part in numerous extracurricular activities, and interned at several places of work, all of these people were still strangers to me. Yes, many I would call associates, people I could get a drink with and whose favourite basketball teams I knew because we had held several casual conversations on the topic, but none of them knew me.

They didn't know that my stepfather had been John Winchester, a major crime lord in the East. They had no clue that he had once sent a man to assassinate me or that I had caused his death after discovering he had killed my mom. Not one of them was aware that his son, Dean Winchester, had saved my life, and that he had died because of me as well. There was not a single soul here who knew my past.

I stopped myself again, wondering why these thoughts were coming to my mind unbidden. But I couldn't help but realize that it was all true. Not even Jess, my fiancée, knew everything about me. She saw the studious, hard-working graduate who hates seafood and believes in the power of the law. She could never know that I had once considered killing a woman in cold blood after she had shot my best friend, or that I felt sympathetic towards a man who had ended up being a cold murderer.

"I don't know," I finally said, responding to her question. It was the truth.

Two hours later we were back in the apartment we shared. The place was full of boxes packed with our belongings, ready to be shipped to New York in a couple of days. Only the furniture remained in place, since we intended to leave it all behind.

"Shirley asked me who would be coming from your side of the family, and I had to tell her I didn't know," Jess said as she took out her earrings in front of the bedroom vanity. "She seemed shocked that I hadn't met any of your family yet."

"Well isn't Shirley marrying Mark Feebes?" I tugged the bowtie from my neck, throwing it onto the bed. "That guy's entire family can be looked up on Wikipedia."

"That's not the point, Sam," she said, and I recognized that tone in her voice. Lately she had been using it a lot, especially when we discussed our upcoming wedding.

"You don't want to hear about my family, Jess. We're not exactly the Bradys." I was trying to lighten the mood, but it was clear that I was failing when she didn't smile.

"There's just so much I don't know about you," she mumbled, looking down at her hands, her long fingers clasped around each other.

"What do you want to know?" I asked, dreading the conversation I knew was about to take place but knowing I couldn't avoid it.

"You never talk about your family." She looked up at me. "Are your parents still alive? Where did you grow up?"

"In New York," I said curtly. "I told you that." I was always annoyed by her bouts of probing, but I didn't want to start a fight with her now. "I don't understand what the problem is, Jessica."

"The problem is your answers are always so vague. Yes, you grew up in New York, but where in the city? In an apartment? A house? With both of your parents? Do you have any siblings?" She sighed, frustrated. "Why don't you talk to me?"

I looked away angrily. "We've discussed this before. I told you that I wanted to leave my past behind me. That I didn't want to discuss it."

"I know that, Sam, and I respect that. But how can you expect me to marry you if I don't know these basic things? What am I supposed to tell my family and friends when they ask me about you? Am I supposed to just say that I don't know? That I barely know anything about my husband?"

I knew that she was right, but she didn't understand what she was demanding of me. I had never told Jessica about my past because it was something I didn't want to affect my future. Yes, I would never be able to completely forget it – I had accepted that – but that didn't mean that others had to know about it. I trusted Jess, but this was not a trust issue. It was my incapability of disregarding the past when it was clear in my present. Telling Jess would change things, and I was afraid it wouldn't be for the better. It would be like breaking open a dam and letting in everything I had spent so much effort keeping back up to this point.

_Then why are you going back to New York_? The question appeared in my mind again but I brushed it aside.

I stood up and grabbed Jess' hands, her skin soft and warm against my palms. I made sure to look her in the eyes as I selected my next words carefully. "Maybe one day I will be able to tell you, but today is not that time. I want you to understand, though, that I only hide my past because I want to make a future with you."

"Why?"she whispered. "What can be so horrible that…?" She trailed off as she shook her head. "Never mind. I understand, Sam, and I love you." She stood on her tippy toes as she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. As our lips parted, she said, "But just tell me _one_ thing."

"What?"I asked.

She looked at me strangely, her arms still wrapped around my neck. "Why is it that you never wear shoelaces?"

I laughed. "I'm a lawyer, Jess. Since when do lawyers go to work with runners?"

She shook her head, a crease forming between her eyes. "No, even when you exercise you never wear runners. You always insist on buying shoes with Velcro or slip-ons. I always found it strange."

I thought about it and realized that she was right. It always unsettled me when I saw laces on shoes. For a moment a past memory bubbled to the surface of my mind, an image of bloody shoelaces, but I quickly shoved it back down, forcing a smile. "I guess I'm just lazy," I drawled, pressing my forehead against hers and slowly pushing her back towards the bed.

She punched my shoulder playfully but didn't resist as we fell onto the covers. "So _that's_ why you always leave the apartment when there're chores to be done," she said between kisses.

My lips skimmed across her jaw line. "Guilty…"

Then her neck. "As…"

I reached a hand beneath her dress and heard her gasp. "Charged."

* * *

**To be continued.**


	3. Chapter 3

**MALICE**

Chapter III

/

"_And I won't tell my mother._

_It's better she don't know._

_And he won't tell his folks,_

_'Cause they're already ghosts._"

- _Run_, Daughter

/

"Ellen?"

I placed the tips of my fingers against the tender spot on the back of my skull. It was safe to wince when Ellen wasn't looking. It had been almost a week since my attack, but my head still hurt.

"Yeah, hun?" Ellen asked, clearly distracted. She was spreading some sort of brown glaze on several pieces of chicken, following the brush stroke movements the chef made on TV.

I had decided not to tell her about that night. I didn't need her worrying for me anymore than she already did. Calling the police had never been an option either. Police officers at the door would only garner questions from Ellen, and there was no such thing as doing it discreetly. I knew she still kept in touch with many of the officers she had once worked alongside. Word would eventually get around to her, even if I went to the station to make the report.

Then there was the other problem. How would I explain how I had fought off my attacker? Yeah, he was drunk, and yes, I had taken a few self defense classes, but the guy had easily had a hundred pounds on me. If I were to explain what had _really_ happened, well…

"You were there that night, weren't you?" I heard myself ask before I could think the question through. "You saw the body."

"What body?" Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

I leaned back in the armchair I sat in, my body remaining tense. The topic I was bringing up was one we had barely spoken about since Sam left. "Dean's body. You saw him when he was... dead, right?"

Ellen's hand halted as the chef continued to talk, his deep voice the only sound in the room. It was a long moment before she turned around, giving me her full attention. "Why would you ask such a thing, Jo?" Her voice sounded cold and I regretted having posed the question. I ducked my head down, examining my toenails. I had painted them bright blue again, the first time in a long time.

"I was just wondering," I lied. "I mean, there was never a funeral and-"

"Yes, I saw his body. He was dead. He died that night along with John." She turned her back and began applying the glaze again, though this time it was with less grace, the brush practically slicing into the chicken breasts. "Now, no more discussions on that topic, all right? Just forget about that boy and his father."

I nodded even though she couldn't see me, her eyes focused on the television screen again. The chef was sprinkling some sort of spice now, but Ellen was making no move to follow his directions. When I left the room to brush my teeth a few minutes later, she was still applying the same layer of glaze, her shoulders stiff.

I spent the rest of the evening researching in my room. I knew Ellen wouldn't be able to give me any answers, but it was possible I could find something on the internet. I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for - maybe something that could confirm what I had seen that night - but I couldn't sit around any longer. All week the incident in the alley had been on my mind. It took up about as much space in my thoughts as Sam's upcoming return. _  
_

Sam... Did Sam know Dean was alive? How would he react to news like that? He hadn't talked about Dean much before he had left for Stanford. I wondered if he still thought of him.

It had been a long time since I had looked up John Winchester. He had a whole page on Wikipedia dedicated to him, including a list of deaths that had been connected to his crime organization. Sam's mother was among the deceased, and I thought back to her latest death anniversary. I had gone to where she was buried, just like I did every year, and once again there had been a bundle of flowers lying next to her tombstone. I had never known the woman - I only went on the off-chance that Sam would be there - but I had always wondered who visited her. Once I had gone super early in the morning, arriving before the cemetery was open, but the bouquet was there before I arrived. It had snowed the night before, but the flowers were untouched. Whoever had placed them there hadn't been a normal visitor.

Dean didn't have a separate wiki page, only a small mention in John's. There was a surprisingly small amount of information about him, and no picture. It stated that he was best known by the title 'The Angel of Mercy', and according to whoever wrote this particular section, he had died the same night John had. Before then, he had apparently worked for his father, taking out whoever stood in the mob boss' way whether it was man, woman, young, or old. It didn't say why he had done it, or when his first assassination had occurred, although it was speculated that he had started at a young age.

Listed on the page were several assassinations that had been directly linked to Dean, including the murders of a well-known journalist and the NYPD Chief of Department, plus a whole lot of other ones that were never proven but assumed to be his doing. After John's death a large number of witnesses had slowly come out of the woodwork, revealing just how far the rabbit hole went.

I recalled the image of Dean in the alleyway, standing over the slumped body of my attacker. _"Go home and call the police, Jo."_

I couldn't help but wonder why he had helped me. Why had he been there? Had it really been him? None of the information I gathered could answer my questions, and when I got tired of reading about assassinations and John's corrupt business I decided to move onto other things. I was on a page about some serial killer named H. H. Holmes when there was a knock on my door and Ellen appeared in the frame.

"I'm going to head to the bar now. If you need anything, call me on my cell, all right? I have it on vibrate."

I nodded my head, wondering if she was still upset about my earlier question. If she was, she didn't show it.

It was midnight when I finally decided to close my eyes and sleep. I had a strange dream. I saw Sam, teenage Sam, riding a swing at the fair. He didn't look very happy about it, his face tinged with green. I was standing by the railing, watching him, calling out that he should smile more. The ride seemed to go on forever, around and around and around. Someone came to stand next to me, but I didn't turn my head to look at the stranger.

"He's going to throw up," a male's voice said.

I laughed. "Yeah, probably. But he's the one who decided to go on the ride."

"Should I put him out of his misery?"

From the corner of my eye I saw the stranger reach his arm out, and I realized he held a gun in his hand. It was pointed upwards, aiming at Sam. I spun my head around, looking at the man in horror.

"Dean? What are you doing? Stop it!"

But he didn't seem to hear me and I couldn't move my body to stop him. I was glued to the spot I stood on.

"Don't worry, Sam," he said to himself, looking sad. "I won't miss."

"No!" I screamed, but then Dean was folding his arm in, the gun's barrel positioned under his chin and pointing up at his head. I shut my eyes and-

I was awoken by a cold breeze. I was lying on my back, my heart hammering in my chest as I realized I had kicked the blankets to the end of the bed. I wondered what my dream meant, but quickly gave up on deciphering it. Dreams were just dreams. They meant nothing.

My window had been left open, but I knew for certain it had been closed when I had been skimming my computer screen. I consoled myself by picturing Ellen entering my room and cranking the window open - she was always telling me my room was too stuffy - but when I glanced at my clock I realized it was too early for her to be back from the bar.

My head was still groggy with sleep but I immediately sat up, scanning my room for an intruder, my heart beating faster. I briefly wondered if I should call Ellen, but I realized I had left my cell phone charging in the kitchen and cursed.

When it was clear there was no one else in the room, I got up and tiptoed to my bedroom door. Was the intruder in the kitchen? Had they already left? Were they foraging through Ellen's limited jewelry stock at this very moment? I placed my hand on the doorknob, running through my head the different scenarios that awaited me on the opposite side. Meanwhile, my heart continued to thud in my chest, alarms going off in my head.

There was a noise behind me, the floorboard by the foot of my bed that always creaked when someone stepped on it, and I spun around. I tried to hit the man who was suddenly standing in my room, but he grabbed my wrists and forced me back. As I slammed into the door I recalled the night in the alley and began screaming bloody murder, hoping that the neighbours would be able to hear me this time.

A hand covered my mouth. "Jo. Jo, it's okay. It's me. Jo, I'm not going to hurt you." At first I continued to struggle, not caring what the asshole had to say, but then the gruff voice nicked something in the back of my mind and I realized I recognized who it belonged to. It was the voice from my dream.

I felt my limbs go numb, my struggle ending abruptly. Although I knew I was staring directly at his face, he was too close and the shadows too dark for me to make out his features. But I knew who he was.

"I'm going to remove my hand and step back very slowly, okay? Don't scream or run." He waited for a moment, as if to see if I would object, but then I felt the rough palm on my lips lift and the rustling of clothes as he shifted back. The dim light from the window slowly spilled onto his face, revealing his strong jaw, the straight line of his nose, his pouty lips, spikes of his dirty blonde hair, and lastly, the hazel of his irises. Aside from a few new lines at the corners of his eyes and running along his brow, he looked exactly the same.

"Dean," I breathed, not quite believing he was actually standing before me.

"Hey, Jo. It's been a while."

I felt myself sway on my feet. I had suspected he was still alive since the night I was attacked in the alley, but to have him standing before me, in my bedroom, was too unbelievable. "How-" I started, but I didn't know how to finish the sentence. "I mean, you were…"

_Dead_. The word easily appeared in my mind, but I found I couldn't say it out loud. "You shouldn't be here," I whispered instead, the words directed less towards him and more towards the laws of life.

His reply was a smirk. "Why? I'm not allowed to come visit an old friend?"

He lowered himself onto the edge of my bed, facing the open window. I watched him, unable to come up with anything else to say. I had only known Dean for a little while, when Sam had brought him to the youth center all those years ago, claiming the man had saved his life. He had been like a heroic character straight out of a soap opera, with his amnesia and life-saving tendencies. I had liked him well enough, but now I recalled who he really was; what the papers had said about him; the stories about John that he had obviously been connected to in so many ways. My shock soon mingled with cold fear, but I was determined not to let the emotion show.

Dean did not seem to be aware of my inner struggles. He had turned his attention to my bedside table, reaching over to pluck a picture frame from its top. I remained silent as I watched him study it. I couldn't see the picture from where I stood, but I had looked upon it enough times to be able to recreate the image in my mind. I recalled it now, seeing the three of us - me, Ash, and Sam - smiling as we sat by a tree in Central Park, frisbee players in the background. I was in the middle with the two boys beside me, all of us eight years younger. Still kids.

"How is he?" Dean asked, and I didn't have to confirm it to know who he was talking about.

I still had questions for Dean, but I settled on answering his for now. "I don't really know," I replied truthfully. "We haven't talked much, but he seems to be doing fine. Apparently he graduated top in his class at Stanford Law School. Got amazing on his Bar." I realized I was rambling. I cleared my throat. "He's returning to the city tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?" He didn't sound surprised. He was clearly not focusing on the picture or on my words. It seemed he was lost in a memory, his eyes focusing on another image before him only he could see, his words faint.

Looking at him now, I felt my fear begin to ebb. He didn't look like a murderer. In fact, the soft glow of the moonlight made his expression look almost gentle. I found it hard to imagine he was someone who was capable of killing. Come to think of it, I had never witnessed him hurt anyone unless for good reason. He had covered me and Sam that time we had been shot at in the shelter, and he had stopped Meg after she had tried to kill me. The only times I had seen him use violence was when he was protecting someone.

My initial panic gone, I moved to lean on the edge of my dresser, suddenly finding the cool air rushing in from the window appealing. What I knew of Dean personally said one thing, but what others told about him painted a completely different picture. I wasn't sure which one to believe, but I wasn't going to take any chances. Crossing my arms over my chest, I cleared my throat again, hoping to sound normal. "So… are you going to explain things to me or not?"

His head snapped up, as if my voice had pulled him from whatever memory he had been reliving, and then he was placing the picture back in its spot on my bedside table. "Explain what?"

"You know what I'm talking about," I said in annoyance. I was not in the mood to play games. Not when I had just been scared out of my wits for the second time in a week. "Why are you here? How is it possible?"

"You mean why am I not dead?" He grinned up at me. "How do you know I'm not a ghost?"

I rolled my eyes, realizing I wasn't going to be able to get a straight answer out of him no matter how hard I tried.

"Then why are you _here_? In my room? Does Sam know you're-"

He cut me off quickly, his voice losing its playfulness. "Sam doesn't know anything, and that's how it's going to stay."

"You mean you're not going to tell him you're alive?" I asked, incredulous. I thought Sam would have been the first to know of Dean's existence. "He thinks you're _dead_, Dean. When you died- When you- Whatever the hell happened to you, he was a mess. You should have seen him."

"The kid's tough," he said matter-of-factly. "He seems recovered now. Even has himself a pretty fiancée."

I scoffed. "So you've been keeping tabs on him."

The frown on his face showed that he had not intended that one to slip out. "I know a little."

"Only a little? Then do you want to know more? Her name is Jessica Lee Moore and she's a sweet little blonde from Los Angeles. She studied at Stanford School of Medicine where she met Sam four years ago and is now planning to work as a trauma nurse at the New York-Presbyterian Hospital. Sam proposed to her eight months ago, and they're planning to have their wedding in August in a big old church downtown. I got a handwritten invitation, and yes, her cursive writing is spectacular."

"You done?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just thought you should now."

"Yeah, thanks." He got up and leaned against the window frame, looking out across the roof of a warehouse. Next to the building was the alley that led to Harvelle's Roadhouse.

I wanted to ask him why he had helped me that night, but the words wouldn't come. Instead I said, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"All the things the newspapers said. All the things you've done." He glanced at me, his face pale in the moonlight. It made his expression look cold now.

As silence spread between us I couldn't tell what he was thinking and I suddenly regretted bringing his past up. I didn't really know this man. I didn't know why he was here or who he was working for or if he perhaps really _was_ a ghost. He had never hurt me, but that was before. That was when he had only been Dean, a boy with amnesia; before he had remembered his other name, Mercy. I briefly pondered how his two names seemed to belong to two different people. I didn't know who was standing before me right now: Dean or Mercy.

"They said you were John Winchester's son," I continued, because the silence in the room needed to be filled and there was no taking my words back. "That you used to kill people for him. Is that true?"

"Yes."

I felt myself swallow even though my mouth had gone dry. "Did you kill everyone he ordered you to?"

He returned his gaze to the window. "Almost everyone."

"So you're a murderer."

"Yes." His reply came slower this time.

I felt a shiver run through me that was not caused by the cool breeze entering my room. This was not Dean, but I wasn't sure if it was Mercy either. "Then I want you to leave."

He gave no reaction that he had heard my request, standing motionless by the window. I watched as the wind tussled his clothes, but then he sniffed and gave me a small smirk. "Don't tell Sam about me, all right? I think it would be better if he didn't know."

I nodded, agreeing. Then he was climbing out of the window and onto the fire escape. "Wait," I heard myself say. He poked his head back through the window. "What…" How was I supposed to ask him? "Why me? Why come see me?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to check up on you. See if things were all right since the other night, when you…" He trailed off. "You didn't call the police like I asked you to."

"I didn't want Ellen involved."

He nodded, understanding. "Say hi to her for me, would you?"

"Ellen? You want her to know you're not six feet under the ground?"

He smiled. "Oh, Ellen's known that for years." And then he was gone, disappearing down the fire escape, leaving nothing behind but a strange feeling in my chest.

* * *

**To be continued.**


	4. Chapter 4

**MALICE**

Chapter IV

/

"I_ heard you were trouble and you heard I was trouble._"

- _Pull Me Down_, Mikky Ekko

/

The doors were a few meters away. I watched as they periodically slid open, allowing passengers to exit the terminal, giving small glimpses of the crowd that stood on the other side. I knew most of them were waiting for someone else, perhaps a cousin or a daughter or a son-in-law, but there would be three people watching for me; two I hadn't seen in seven years, and the other in five. I couldn't help but wonder if they would act the same way they had before, or look similar to how I remembered them. What would have changed? How much had I changed? Would it matter?

I realized I was gripping the handle of my suitcase much too tightly. Releasing it, I looked for Jessica, shaking my hands out as if that would cast out the nervous tension I felt. I spotted Jess returning from the washroom and forced a smile as she took my hand, discreetly wiping my palm on my pant leg beforehand.

"You ready?" she asked.

"Yep," I lied.

Pulling our suitcases behind us, we walked towards the exit. There was a family ahead of us, pushing a cart with a tower of bags piled on top, and as they triggered the motion detector and the doors slid open, I briefly spotted a female teenager with blonde hair in the crowd. An image flashed quickly through my mind; an image of Jo slumped against a broken window, her abdomen covered in blood and her skin pale.

I fought the impulse to squeeze Jess' hand tighter, but then the doors were opening for us and we were visible to the entire crowd. Dozens of pairs of eyes focused on us and then slid past, returning to the closing doors that would soon reveal the people they had come here for. Three pairs remained, however, and I felt a sudden and unexpected rush of ease as I met their stares.

I had been nervous for no reason. Seven years may have altered their appearances slightly, forming wrinkles where there weren't any before, but these were the people who had taken care of me when I needed it the most. This was... my family.

Ellen had a motherly smile planted on her lips, her eyes slightly glossy as she waved at me. I returned the gesture, but I kept moving forward, knowing I had to bypass the crowd before I could meet them. Ash sported a grin as he lazily saluted me, disappearing into the crowd along with Ellen as they made their way to the back where they could greet me properly. My head turned as I walked by the spot they had been waiting, because Jo was still standing there, her eyes focused solely on me. I couldn't help but notice that she had become even prettier than she was before, for she was a young woman now. I also noted that she wasn't smiling. She was looking at me with what seemed like indecision, but before I could confirm the emotion she was turning away.

Jess and I quickly made it around the crowd and came to a stop in front of the three. I looked at the trio, my fingers still entwined with Jess', and couldn't help but smile. Seven years was a long time, but I still had a family here. It was a nice thought.

For a moment we said nothing, simply soaking the moment in, but then Ellen laughed. "Oh, come here, Sam." She reached her arms out and I couldn't help but grin as I hugged the woman. I had to bend down a little to make it work. "I can't believe how tall you've gotten," she said as she released me.

"Agreed. How tall are you now, Sam?" Ash asked as he clapped me on the back. I had been somewhat surprised to discover his hairstyle still remained the same. He had once told me he would never let go of the mullet, but I hadn't actually taken him seriously back then.

"Six foot four," I replied, and upon seeing the surprised look on his face I recalled that I couldn't quite believe it myself.

"It's strange to think Sam was once short," I heard Jess say behind me, her voice shy but strong. "I've only known him when he was the looming tower he is now."

Ellen smiled warmly at her. "And who is this lovely lady by your side, Sam?"

I turned to face Jess, who had been waiting patiently all this time. She was returning Ellen's smile as I gently took her arm and looked back towards the three. "Um, everyone. I'd like you all to meet my fiancée, Jessica Moore."

Ellen was the first to introduce herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said as she reached a hand out. "I'm Ellen."

"And I'm Ash." Jess shook his hand too, and I was impressed that she didn't show any amusement or surprise at his hairstyle.

Jo's turn was next, but as the silence grew between us all I realized she wasn't going to make the introduction herself. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, a wary look on her face. It wasn't quite a scowl, but it was close enough. I realized she hadn't smiled once since we had arrived.

"And this is Jo," I quickly said, gesturing to the girl. "She can be a little... prickly."

Now Jo scowled, but I was grateful that the expression was directed towards me and not my fiancée.

Jess reached out her hand, her smile never faltering. "It's nice to meet you, Jo. Sam's told me a little about you. I hope we can get to know each other better."

A moment passed and I was afraid that Jo would remain still, but then Ellen was nudging her forward, a little strongly. I almost sighed in relief as she finally reached her own hand out. The two women shook, but Jo's attention was on Jess' left hand and the sparkling engagement ring she wore. When she raised her eyes again she wore an obvious fake smile. "It's nice to meet you too, though I didn't expect you to be so... Blonde."

I heaved a long sigh. "Jo, lay off, would you?" I would have been more annoyed if it wasn't for the fact that I hadn't seen the kid in years. Some things about Jo obviously hadn't changed at all, and somehow it was comforting to see that pissed off look she used to get when girls would flirt with me. I couldn't hide a grin as I spread my arms wide. "Can _I_ at least get a proper hello?"

The girl's guarded expression seemed to suddenly crumble as she walked into my embrace, the top of her head barely reaching my chest now. Her arms came around my waist and squeezed so tightly I was surprised such a tiny thing could hold so much power. Then I was hugging her back, the familiar smell of cherries reaching my nose.

"So, whady'all say we go and get you guys settled in your place?" Ellen's voice interrupted. "I'm sure you're tired from your trip."

Jo finally let me go as she stepped back, but she still didn't look happy. I wondered what was wrong. I may have barely spoken to the girl in years, but I could still tell when something was bothering her. She always got that crease between her eyes. I knew she had once had a crush on me, but that had been seven years ago. Even if she was jealous of Jessica, there was no reason for her to be this moody.

"Good idea," my fiancée said. "Maybe we can all get a bite to eat as well. I'm starved." I smiled again, figuring Jo's strange mood was probably unrelated to anything that had to do with me or Jess or our arrival in New York City. There could be a million possible reasons why she was behaving the way she was now, from a bad breakup to a failed job interview. I would leave it alone for now.

As everyone turned to leave, Ellen already starting up a conversation with Jessica and Ash offering to take her bag, I suddenly got the strange feeling that someone was watching me. I glanced around, people moving everywhere. A large woman in high heels wobbled by on my right. A bald man in a business suit squeezed past behind me. My head swiveled to my left. The layout of the airport changed about ten meters away, the floor rising a few feet. Stairs led up to the raised portion, and two large pillars stuck up on either side of the wide space. It would be a perfect vantage point for someone to watch from.

_Is there someone there?_ I asked myself. _Is there someone watching me?_

But then I felt silly. John was dead and if someone held a grudge against me for having killed him they would have found me a long time ago. There was no one after me. There was no one there. I knew I was being paranoid. But still, I found I couldn't stop my eyes from scanning the area. It was only when I felt a hand on my arm that I looked away.

"Sam, what's wrong?" It was Jo. I looked past her and realized that everyone was waiting for me.

I shook my head. "Nothing. It's nothing," I muttered. "I was just thinking how good it is to be back in New York."

Jo didn't seem to believe my lie, but she didn't say anything further. Then we were catching up with the others and heading out to the parking lot, the strange feeling I had felt being pushed to the back of my mind as everyone discussed what they wanted to eat. We eventually agreed on Thai.

/

There was no way he saw me, but my chest stilled as his face turned in my direction. His eyes were scanning the crowd as if he sensed someone watching him. I immediately tugged down the baseball cap I was wearing, my shoulders hunching a little more as I leaned against one of the massive pillars spread throughout the airport. He wouldn't see me. Even if he did, he wouldn't recognize me. There was no way. He thought I was dead. You don't see dead people in airports, leaning against pillars wearing baseball caps for a team they don't care for. Then again, you don't see boys returning to the city where their moms were killed by their crime lord stepfathers, walking through the terminal gate as fully grown men, dressed in tailored suits and shiny leather shoes.

A lot of things didn't make sense. I knew that both me and Sam being here in New York City, only a few meters separating us, was one of those things. Me being here made the least sense of all, but even so I couldn't help but watch the guy out of the corner of my eye as I pretended to play with my cell phone.

Sam was eventually distracted by Jo as the girl grabbed his arm, and I let myself relax a little. I put my cell phone away and stood up straight. Had it been shock I had felt when he had walked through those doors? Is that what had encased my mind, rendering my limbs useless and unable to move? Even when a man had bumped into me, apologizing as he went on his way, I had been completely fixated on the little group huddled among the rest of the happily reunited down by the gate. There was Jo and Ellen and Ash - I had watched them for awhile before the plane had arrived - and then Sam and his fiancée had joined them.

Sam's fiancée... Jessica. I hadn't looked at her for long, although she had struck me as some sort of actress, dressed in a green and blue summer dress, her shoes white, her face pretty and smiling. Always smiling. I told myself her and Sam looked good together. They looked like a happy couple. They were living together and had been for a few years. They were serious. Soon they would be newlyweds. They were- They... They. _They_.

As the group had talked and introductions has been made I had taken the time to observe Sam more closely. The kid had filled out over the years. He was taller now, probably standing a few inches above myself, and he had lost his teenage lankiness. Beneath his suit I could tell he was packing some muscle, and the way he moved was with powerful, sure movements. He never once stumbled or hesitated or appeared unsure of himself. He was… Well, he was all grown up now, wasn't he?

That's when Sam had looked in my direction. When I was sure he hadn't noticed me, I followed the group as they made their way out of the airport, dodging anxious travelers and piles of luggage while keeping my eyes on the five of them the entire time. I saw when Sam put a hand against his fiancée's back as a tourist cut them off, pulling her closer to him. I watched as he smiled at Ellen when she said something. I looked on as he laughed, his head falling back and his hair falling away from his face. He still looked the same. Maybe older, but the same. My memory had not warped him in any way.

I trailed them all the way into the parking lot. They were piling into Ellen's van when my cell phone rang. I reached into my pocket, placing the device by my ear while I watched Sam squish into his seat, his long legs folding at an awkward angle so that he would fit. I would have chuckled if it wasn't for the serious nature of the call.

"This is Dean."

"A tip was called in last night concerning your drop off tomorrow," the familiar accented voice said from the other side. "Might wanna give your boys a heads up."

"Thanks." There was a pause that shouldn't have been there. "Anything else?" I asked warily.

"Come pay me a visit."

I held back a sigh. "I'll be there soon." The van was already leaving the parking lot of LaGuardia airport as I hung up. I watched as it halted at a stop sign and then took a right turn onto a road that would lead to the highway.

Sam was back in town, but that didn't change everything. There was still work to be done, and no one but me to carry it out. Properly, that is. There was only so much you could leave to lesser minds.

_Not everything has changed_, I reminded myself again.

Then I was getting into my own car, a black 1967 Chevy Impala I had saved from the junkyard a few years back. It took me thirty-five minutes before I was pulling into a driveway a block away from 1 Police Plaza, the NYPD headquarters. Then it was a three minute walk and a few seconds at a back door before I was climbing a closed stairwell. The Chief of Department had taped off the set of stairs for "repair work", but really it was a ruse so that people like me could make visits unnoticed and never bothered. The Chief of Department didn't have the luxury of being able to meet with everyone he needed to outside of the NYPD, so he had found a way to allow us to come to him.

He was sitting behind his desk when I opened the door without knocking. He looked like he was expecting me, his white uniform perfectly ironed and his light brown hair in neat array. "Took you a little longer than expected," he said.

I shrugged. "Didn't know I was being timed."

"I'm a very busy man, Dean. I don't like to be kept waiting. And you're lucky I'm meeting with you at all. This shipment-"

"Is important," I cut him off. "I know. But it's more important to you than it is to me, so don't act all high and mighty, _Chief_."

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then thought better of it. His sinister appearance seemed to melt as he stood up, a smile reaching his lips. "Cheeky bastard, like always, I see."

I scoffed, turning my attention to the shelves of books and foreign artifacts that lined one of the office's walls. The miniature skeleton of a dinosaur stood next to an old, tattered bible, and I tried to recall its species name. "I'm guessing there's an important reason you called me here, Balth."

"Look, Dean, I'm one of the few people who knew you before John died," Balth said as he rounded his desk. "I know you don't go by your old nickname anymore, but do you really think you're going to get anything done this way?"

"What way?" I asked in mock ignorance as I poked the miniature dinosaur. The jaw bone came loose and bounced across the shelf.

"Careful with that," he scolded. "It took me ages to piece that thing together." He shooed me out of the way and I stepped aside as he endeavored to complete the skeleton again. "And don't act stupid. You know what I'm talking about."

"I do, and I don't think there's a problem with the way I've been doing things."

He turned his head to stare at me, his blue eyes steely. "Not a problem? This is the third information leak this year. You've got rats in your operation, Dean. And I don't mean your average sewer dwellers, because you and I both know that those are the only kind of creatures we can use to run operations like ours. I mean the crafty ones. The rats that climb up from the sewer looking for something better in the streets. The ones that snitch."

"I'm already searching for the one who called in the tip. I'll have him by sundown."

"And then what? What are you going to do to him?"

I hesitated, not because I was unsure, but because I knew my answer was not the one Balth wanted. The guy must have noticed my hesitation, because he immediately shook his head and looked away.

"You're getting soft, Dean."

I shrugged. "I used to be called 'Mercy'. I thought it was about time to live up to the name, you know?" It was a joke, but Balth didn't laugh. The fossil was whole again and now he walked back to his desk where he slowly lowered himself into his arm chair.

"You _used_ to be called Mercy. Not anymore, according to you. If you let one rat off, there are going to be others that think they can make it out of the sewers too. You know that. You watched your father run his business. You saw what he did to people who betrayed him."

"Yeah, he sent _me_ after them."

"Exactly."

I shook my head. "I'm done killing, Balth. I don't want to do it anymore."

He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was judging how serious I was by the way he was staring. He was analyzing me, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "How do you expect to run your business if you can't even squash a fucking rat?"

I shrugged. "It's been running fine the past few years, hasn't it?"

"That's only thanks to your reputation. But The Angel of Mercy is becoming more myth than reality now. He is being _forgotten_. He no longer threatens people, and now the rats think they have a better chance of not being squashed."

I knew he was right, but what was I supposed to do? Killing wasn't the same anymore. I had done it in the past because John had ordered me to. It was all I had known. I pointed the gun and I pulled the trigger because that was what I had been taught to do; what I was good at. But over the past several years I had discovered I was good at other things too. I no longer had to kill to survive. There were other things...

"What the fuck happened to you, Dean?" Balth asked, and I felt as if his eyes were piercing through my skull, trying to read my thoughts. "You used to kill without a second thought. It didn't even matter who; whether they were innocent or not. Now you can't even shoot a fucking criminal in the head? Don't tell me you've grown a conscience."

"You should feel lucky I'm not shooting criminals, Balth." I gave him a look to get my point across. "Last time I checked you were one of the biggest criminals in the city."

He held his arms out as if to draw attention to our surroundings. "And also Chief of Department. You couldn't touch me even if you tried."

I smirked. "Don't be so sure." This was the kind of banter we often exchanged, but there was always the tiniest bit of seriousness in what we said. Balth smiled too, as if he was challenging me to make a move, but then he was waving his hand to shoo me out. "Call me when you've dealt with the snitch. I don't care how you do it, just don't let it happen again."

I nodded before turning around and strolling out of the room. For the briefest of moments a memory flickered in my mind. I saw Sam standing on a concrete port, speaking aloud to a dead man, telling him he was nothing but a killer. But then I was shaking my head and making my way down the stairwell. I had a rat to find.

_Not everything has changed, _I reminded myself, but I knew the words were a lie.

* * *

**To Be Continued.**


End file.
